


only one feat is possible; not to run away

by orphan_account



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Demigods, Gen, Multi, Origin Story, it really is a bunch of origin stories compiled but i promise there will be a sequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-13 16:17:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4528698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James T. Kirk, nobody from Iowa, has been swept into a world of gods and monsters and has trouble ignoring his old mantra - cheat and run away. He's surprised to find out that in Camp Half-Blood, there's no need to any more.</p><p>To be more succinct, Percy Jackson AU time for Kirk and his crew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

The more the whoops of the boys of the Ares cabin lessened, the more confident Jim Kirk became in his escape. His footing became quicker and more confident, even in the dwindling moonlight within the Camp Half-Blood forest. The demigod’s panting became the only thing within earshot, but Jim was determined not to stop until the gurgling of Zephyrus Creek was as distant as the yells from his pursuers. He came to stop when his exhaustion drove him to his knees, close to a clearing by the Creek. He hadn’t been as vulnerable as now, sitting under a tree breathing heavily, since...well, before the disastrous game of Capture the Flag began.

“Okay...you’ve taken five, Kirk. Walk it off,” ordered Jim to himself. It was a struggle for him to do that; his head spun just with an attempt to stand up. In a moment of brilliance, the demigod also slid his armor over his head and onto the grass. Jim gave another sigh after this; soon he was back to normal. Had he been any other camper, he would have been looking for a way out of the woods and away from the Ares campers, but in Kirk’s head, the two goals were opposites. Such is the nature of the newcomer not to trust anything, especially when the newcomer in question had been assailed by adversaries out for his blood for his entire life and even more so in these last months.

But Jim wasn’t sleeping in the forest this fine night, no matter the light the moon and stars provided in the little clearing. So the sixteen-year-old patted his belt to ensure the presence of his bronze sword. “This was a _bad_ idea,” he mumbled to himself. He was left looking around every exit of the clearing for anything that might resemble a way out. “Left...yeah. Pike told me this was the...left side of the woods.” The place the Hermes Cabin had placed their flag waved far away from Jim’s current position, but following the Creek was Jim’s ticket out of the place. If he followed, there were only two possibilities: either he would end up at the beach, or he would be led again to the cabins.

_When in doubt, choose right._

So that was what Jim chose. The sixteen-year-old returned to the foot of the tree where he had placed his armor. So absentminded was Kirk that he just grabbed on to it and pulled away to walk in the direction he planned, and he was pulled back by the unmoveable armor on the ground. “Huh-uh!” Jim turned around; his sky-blue eyes widened when the metal armor would not budge from the place had put it. Both arms pulling still would not do the trick, nor would using the thick roots of the tree as sure footing to pull away. Jim was considering leaving it behind for all the trouble it was giving him until an unseen chain sprung from beneath the foot at the tree and trapped his foot. The trap turned Kirk upside down and dragged him up the tree. He was left dangling from a branch of the sycamore.

Jim yelped out in surprise at the trap’s sudden appearance, and once he was stuck in place he let out a string of curses. His hand shot to try and free himself, but whatever device was it that had clamped his leg...Jim was unable to undo it upside down, with only one hand at the time.

“Fascinating.”

“ _AGH!_ ” 

Jim fell back upside down when his struggle was interrupted by a single, cold word. His head spun for half a minute before finally settling on the moonlit image of the camper that had sneaked up on him. He was still in his armor, like Jim, and bathed in sweat after the trying game of Capture the Flag that had taken place that night. This newcomer took off his helmet, revealing his inky black short hair. A little smirk that pulled at the edge of the boy’s lips and wide eyes not at him, but at the stupid mechanism that had caught him like an animal.

“Who...who the hell are you? Nevermind that. Why aren’t you _untying_ me, god damn it?!”

“I would do my best if you would give me the time to examine the trap up close so I could neutralize it,” was the camper’s mild reply. “If it makes you feel any better, I would be pleased to tell you all I know so far about this contraption.”

“Great. You’re definitely an Athena kid, aren’t you.”

“What I know of the trap has nothing to do with my godly parent, even more so because I am _unclaimed_ , as are _you_ ” retorted the camper, who now came closer and looked up to observe the trap. “These devices are the work of a particularly controversial member of the Hephaestus cabin, who implemented them for the next to last Capture the Flag game. They blend in with their surroundings so long as they are vegetation, result of Demeter Cabin collaboration. It was difficult to free whoever was in their clutches, but fortunately last time only two campers were at the mercy of the traps, as it was a very short and bloody game.” Know-It-All placed his hands on the metal device and kept speaking. “Pike wanted to send their inventor to go after all the traps he’d set up, but Chiron decided against it as he himself and any teams he might come with could get trapped themselves.”

Jim sighed. “That’s great. Real great. Stuck in a Hephaestus trap with no escape from the nerd that’s talking me to death.” He shook his trapped foot, which made his fellow camper jerk back. “You know how to undo it?”

“No. I wasn’t present when the two afflicted campers were caught. It would be ineffective if I tried my hand at removing the trap myself as I am not either from the Hephaestus Cabin nor well-versed in their traps. I would bring another camper to help - ”

“Except you’d get lost in the woods yourself, because there’s no Yellow Brick Road in this hellhole,” groaned Jim. “Wait. Why are you here? Are there, I don’t know, search parties for me?”

“You flatter yourself, but there is _one_ search party for you, begun by Pike and approved by the Head of the Apollo Cabin…”

“Bones.” The mysterious rescuer began to touch parts of the trap that Jim might have not for fear of losing a hand. “Yeah, well...thanks for trying anyway, man, I appreciate it.”

“You can call me Spock.”

“Spock? What kind of a name is Spock?”

“A last name.” Spock pulled what looked like a lever at the edge of the trap, but it would still not budge under his insisting. “At least, I believe there was a member of the Hephaestus Cabin that is in this same search to look for you, as he was on probation. He may be of more use than I.” As a last-ditch effort, Spock reached for the sword at his side and struck at the metal chain that kept Jim captive. All this did was spin Jim around a few more times and have him swear louder than before.

“Okay. Okay, great. Maybe we should wait until that Hephaestus kid gets here? No, that’s never going to work. Something could eat him on the way here.” Soon, Spock and Jim were out of ideas, facing each other while trying to think of anything to do. “Maybe you could try hitting it again with your sword?”

“That would be most ineffective.”

“ _Most ineffective_ ,” mocked Jim. “Where are you from, the nineteenth century?”

“Washington, D.C,” sighed Spock. “I have not been there since I was eleven years old.” His tone suddenly turned darker, which made Jim want to take a step back (and was unable to). “How could you live until you were sixteen without the protection of Camp Half-Blood?”

Jim began laughing, and only stopped when he coughing cut him off. “Homeschool, my smelly-ass uncle and my mother’s rifle filled with celestial bronze bullets. Why?”

“That does not sound like a particularly good excuse for sixteen years of monsters coming after your blood,” insisted Spock, whose voice was now strained. “You are unclaimed, as am I. Unless you are the son of a minor god or goddess…”

“God,” interrupted Kirk. “And you’d be surprised.”

“Enlighten me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This is my first Star Trek fanfiction, and possibly my last. All will be explained later on, because the format of the story will be: flashbacks leading up to the events of the prologue, and then the game of Capture the Flag mentioned. I think that's going to be the entire work, but I could be persuaded to make a sequel should I get any ideas. Also, this is an AU where either Percy Jackson never existed, or before the Titan War, so there is still throngs of unclaimed demigods, including Jim and Spock.


	2. The Archer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of how James T. Kirk lasted so long without Camp Half-Blood's protection, and how he met someone like him that led him to said Camp.

Two months earlier, Jim Kirk had been the repeat offender at the back of every establishment in his small town in Iowa. The day he met Christopher Pike, it just happened to be Kelvin Auto Repairs. Ridiculous swagger, attitude and all, James T. Kirk walked into the shop and paid no attention to any of the other customers. His eyes were away from his future ally in the back and only on the suspended 1965 Chevy Convertible. He didn't stay to admire it for long; the teenager sauntered over to the main desk in search for the owner. He couldn't help but recoil at the sight of a tall, muscular newcomer at the reception with a crooked and ugly scowl. He looked fresh out of jail with the dirt, tattoos and bruises on him, not to mention the greasy black hair and ungodly smell about him. Almost made Jim wonder how desperate Rick Robau, the owner of the store, had to be to hire a thug like this guy.

"Is Robau going to be back any time soon?" asked Jim. "My uncle's not going to be glad the car's not up for today." And to no one in particular, Jim muttered, "Because he absolutely needed an excuse to act like an asshole." This was actually said at the car, but the burly guy at the counter seemed to be looking like an excuse to be an asshole too.

"You don't want us to do your job? Take your stinking car out of the shop," snarled the new attendant.

"Relax, man, I wasn't talking to you," retorted Jim. "But seriously. You seen Robau around here? I told him it was really urgent. My uncle will kill me if I don't come back with the car today - "

"Your friend won't be coming back to listen to your whining, son." The newest attendant had turned from unwilling to menacing in seconds. Jim turned around to face the employee, and ask him to take it easy. His face fell at the sight of his antagonist, because he could be fairly sure the man hadn't been _this_ tall before - now he could have pushed seven feet easily. The other customers weren't batting an eyelash at the sight of the threatening giant looming over Kirk.

Jim scanned the workshop for anything that might be useful in his escape, because he knew one protocol only for dealing with the supernatural: run and hide, and get his mother's rifle. It was the only weapon he knew that could deal with the bastards. Right now, he stood among dozens of tools he could use against -

The giant fixed one, gleaming red eye on Kirk.

"Everybody out!" roared Jim, who was taking tentative steps back to the wall of tools hanging on the wall closest to him. "Now, now, now!"

"Shop's closed, everyone!" boomed the Cyclops. "Lunch break!"

Jim picked out the biggest hammer on the wall of tools and threw it at the monster currently after his blood. The Cyclops didn't even blink when the three-pound hammer bounced harmlessly against its chest. _Time for my favorite game: hide and run from the Cyclops._

The one-eyed monster laughed at his futile attempt to hurt it, and then he spoke in the voice of Robau, actual owner of the repair shop. "Stop running, son. It's not going to help you."

The few customers had shuffled out of the place like mindless sheep, except for one sandy-haired man who was hiding behind a near-dismantled SUV in the back. Jim locked eyes with the customer, who put a finger over his lips. Jim made no motion to betray the man's position - he might have been too busy fleeing from the cannibal giant. _All I need to do is run home and a bullet or two will end this._ Seemed like an easy thing to do - 

_Swish._

The thing recoiled as if a fly had tried to swat at him, and turned around to search for the source of his annoyment. An _arrow_ now stuck out of the Cyclops’ shoulder, and another buried itself in its neck before it had a chance to react. Jim’s savior was now holding a full-length longbow in his hands, and was notching another arrow to put through the monster’s skin. Jim was paralyzed in place from the surprise, as the Cyclops roared at the presence of the bowman.

“YOU - ”

The bowman aimed one more arrow at the Cyclops’ single red eye, and did not miss.

Soon Jim was wading through the mess of yellow sand that was left by the monster after it had poofed under the man’s arrows. The man hurried to Jim’s side himself, but not before knocking the tip of his longbow unto the ground three times. The weapon seemed to retract into itself and soon all that was left in the stranger’s hand was a set of brass knuckles - no, it wasn’t brass. Jim knew it was bronze.

“You alright, son?”

Jim was not pleased at being called _son_ after the encounter with the monster that had used the pet name, but he nodded mutely.

“Your friend is dead. I’ll need to have a talk with your guardian, if that’s alright.”

Jim once again was unable to speak, as the man shuffled a quiver of arrows Jim had previously not seen from that angle, off his shoulders. The man looked like he was bowing to Jim, but all he did was pick up the three arrows from the mess of dust left from the battle, and put them back into place. It shifted, like the longbow, into another set of brass knuckles around his hand.

“...yeah, anything. I - I - thank you.”

The man smiled with kindness. “Don’t mention it.” He extended a hand at Jim, which he took without question. “Christopher Pike.”

“James Kirk.” As an afterthought, he added, “Jim.”

“Jim,” pondered his new friend. “Are you free for a life-changing revelation?”

***

The sad part about Pike’s visit to his house, Kirk _had_ seen his mother this distressed before, but he tried to make sure it wasn’t often. And yet here she was, her head cupped between her hands and breathing heavily. Something that also ticked him off was that Pike also looked familiar with this sort of situation. He was pausing at every sentence he spoke, as if trying to make Winona Kirk more comfortable with the situation at hand. And the situation at hand was this: a stranger, that saved Kirk from the latest on his list of “monsters that had chased him”, was offering to take him away to somewhere where the monsters couldn’t get to him ever again. All the way to _New York_. He could stay here, he could stay there only for the summers, or he could live there if he wanted. It was an insane choice to make.

Even worse was the why of this entire mess.

“I should have told him before, right?”

“No, Winona,” said Pike, doing his best to be soothing. “You did the right thing. He’s lived this long thanks to you. Usually they get told when they’re around twelve - I can’t believed he lasted until sixteen with all his arms and legs intact. Now it’s time.”

“So you _do_ know the reason why all the monsters come after me,” sighed Jim. “Why would you lie to me?”

“Because it’s not easy to break to anyone the news that their father is a Greek god,” retorted his mother. Jim’s mouth opened in concern, and he looked back at Pike for confirmation that his mother was not insane. Pike’s grave nod didn’t make him feel any better.

Still made sense, between the Cyclops of that day, the bronze birds that had tried to attack him last time he went to a baseball game, the lion that had broken out from its enclosure when he went to the zoo as a kid, the gigantic fox he’d fought off and that had been the last straw before his older brother ran away - 

“You’re shitting me.”

“James Tiberius Kirk, if you would watch your mouth when you are talking to me!” This effectively shut Jim up, but he was still left stunned by the revelation.

“W-well then, what god?”

“I don’t know.”

“Winona,” intervened Pike, “it was best if we didn’t do this here. Back at the camp, we could have talked it out with Chiron - ”

“Chiron? What, the _centaur_?” Jim was now reduced to repeating everything in disbelief.

“Is that more impossible than all the monsters you, and your mother, and your brother saw in your life?” replied Pike.

A door was slammed somewhere on the premises, and Jim bristled at the sound of it.

“No. No it’s not.”

His mother began speaking quietly to Pike, telling him that her brother was not able to see the monsters that had plagued them so often, and that they couldn’t speak about it while he was in the house. Every time his uncle and his stinking ass walked into the house, Jim wished he could run, run, run away and never come back. He made a point never to be in the same room as his Frank, and Frank liked it best that way. It was less easy to piss him off when he wasn’t around. It could still happen, and it would end in the bruises that Rick asked about and tried to help about. But it was so difficult to prove when Jim and his mother needed _somewhere_ to stay, someone they trusted. Sad as it sounded, his uncle’s place was the only place.

Jim took a seat at the dinner table beside his distressed mother, and began whispering quietly. “You said your place was a school?”

“It’s more like a summer camp, but we do offer teaching services to the all-year campers. It happens sometimes,” admitted Pike.

His mother turned to Jim. What with her haggard expression, she looked ten years older than she actually was, and it scared him. “This could be a better opportunity for you, Jim. You could...you could actually focus on making progress without Frank or anything else to bother you. I’ll do fine on my own, if anything it’ll make Frank - ”

“Make Frank _what_?”

His uncle had made his way to the kitchen before the three could warn him not to disturb. His mother stood from her chair and pushed her long blond hair to reveal her now determined expression to her brother. “We’re just discussing some schooling opportunities for Jim with Mr. Pike,” she indicated to Pike with her hand, “and he’ll be going to New York as soon as I can - ”

Jim stared back at her in amazement. He hadn’t even said yes.

“Not with my damn money, you won’t.”

“That’s already been taken care of,” interrupted Pike smoothly. “You don’t have to worry about the economic repercussions, Mr. Davis.”

His uncle narrowed his eyes at the sight of Pike’s intermission. “Then you better be quick to take the punk away before he commits any more crimes under my roof,” he spat. Both Jim and Winona had to suppress a shiver: they knew best this was one of those moods they did their best to avoid. Somehow, Pike seemed to understand the world they lived in, when his face turned grayer at Frank Davis’ words.

“We can be going right this night if it’s fine with everyone.”

“What?” Jim turned back to both Pike and his mother in amazement. “You can’t be serious.” He was not only astounded by his mother’s complete trust of Pike, but of the quickness of the offer. Pike looked ready for travel: he looked like one of those hitchhikers that so often passed by their little town in Iowa.

“It’s your choice, son,” coaxed Pike. Once again, the pet name that bothered him, but coming from the man that kept him from being devoured by a Cyclops just a few hours earlier, he _trusted_ Pike. “You can come back whenever you want, but it’d be best for everyone involved if you stayed at least the summer at Camp Half-Blood. Again, your choice.”


	3. The Singers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now Spock has been enlightened. He doesn't exactly return the favor, but if he ever does, he knows what he will say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: a slur is dropped in a particular scene, but only because it is the name of the aria that is mentioned in (spoilers) the opera in question. If it was wrong of me to keep it, do tell me, I will be glad to edit.

“Well, you asked.” Jim lifted his arms to the level of his shoulders, as if trying to shrug and drop his arms away. “Pike and I made our way through the country and came here this summer and here I am. What about you?”

Spock chose silence as his response. Jim sighed in defeat. “Well, I mean, we _are_ cabin mates. You and I could be friends. But, you know, the status of the friendless new guy that won the Capture the Flag game singlehandedly is also pretty great.” For all his jokes, Jim still tried to push that he wanted Spock to share something about himself. He held back his tongue when he caught Spock’s attention to be on the silvery mechanism that entrapped him. His suspicion that Spock was a son of Athena became even stronger. If only he could see his eyes in the dark…

“Your fame might be short-lived if you insist on antagonizing McKenna and Hendorff so easily to boast,” said Spock mildly. “I believe I have found the secret to the strength of the trap.”

“Really?”

Spock stretched long, pale fingers towards the chain. "These...these symbols I have seen a few times in the Hermes cabin. Work of a son of Hecate - goddess of witchcraft. Of course." His voice grew distasteful at the end.

“Of course,” agreed Jim. “I'm guessing you don't like witchcraft or something?”

“Hephaestus' inventions and magic should not be mixed,” commented Spock, now murmuring. “I know best that automatons tend to go beserk.”

Jim was not oblivious to Spock's solemnity. He wasn't going to intrude and ask, because judging by Spock's tone, the experience that had made Spock wary of automatons was not a pleasant one.

"I'll keep it in mind," agreed Jim.

* * *

Spock did tell Jim things about himself later.

Spock told Jim his first name was Grayson.

He did not tell Jim that he had been named after his mother's maiden name, which she had been pleased to set aside for the strange surname of the Canadian ambassador that married. Her first name had been Amanda. No nicknames, no diminutives, because Leonard was not a particularly emotional man. He was, in Spock's eyes, the image of a cold Greek statue. Only in those intimate moments when they were alone did he call her "beloved". And Grayson had taken after him.

Spock told him Jim it had been a shock to be told that the man he had called a father was in fact his stepfather.

He did not tell Jim that he wished he had been his father, because he had grown up emulating the prudent, intelligent and aloof man. And the truth was, everyone did think the two were peas in a pod, between their pride and cleverness. They were...logical. That was what bonded them most. It was a bond that remained even after the greatest rift between the two happened. Spock understood his father because he operated under logic. He understood almost no one else: he was only the wonder child that dealt with the adults and had no friends. His father he understood. And that was why he could not begrudge the chilliness that had grown since the death of his mother.

Spock told Jim that his mother had died when he was eleven.

He hadn’t told him that after she had died, his father had returned from the funeral a changed man, proclaimed that Grayson was to attend a summer camp, and arranged for him to stay at a boarding school on his return from the camp. Leonard did not look at his son in the eye anymore, which he did not resent. After all, he wasn’t the only one that blamed the young eleven-year-old for the demise of Amanda. The other person that blamed him for the death was Spock himself.

Spock did not tell him how his mother had died.

* * *

From the beginning of the opera, young Grayson’s eyes were fixed in the background singers of the performance. They were beautiful, to say the least, and that was without mentioning their voices. Their melodies rang in the theatre even stronger than the prima donna’s herself, even when they were meant only to be supporting. The public was entranced by the eerie songs that emanated from their throats, even if Spock was not. Neither were his parents: his father was not fond of opera even if the event he attended to needed him to be, while his mother’s eyebrows creased in worry the more the ladies chanted _“We are the gypsy girls that have come from afar!”_ It seemed as if their voice drowned out the clamor of the storm from outside the hall.

“Mother, you are distressed. Is there anything wrong?”

His father gave him a look of disapproval for having spoken during the performance, and Spock immediately stopped his whispering to his mother, even if he did sneak a glance back to her pale face. She, too, spoke during the performance in return.

“Grayson,” she murmured, “what can you tell me of the entertainers that are singing?”

The boy inclined his head down the box to take a closer look at the singers for closer inspection. The lighting was all wrong; it kept not focusing on them, and it was no doubt a flaw in the performance of the night. Spock put it out of his mind, for his mother had asked about the singers, not the lighting. He concentrated on the youngest of the group, who danced about just like the rest and let her raven hair loose. For a second, one of her hands stretched towards the spotlight that concentrated on the heroes of the opera, and there was a glint coming from her skin.

_Curious_.

The boy squinted again for a better look (a visit to an optometrist was due, he should think). The ladies became more and more confident coming into the light, what when background singers dressed as matadores joined them. The mix of the two provided enough of a distraction for the public, along with the singing, for them to notice the glinting that seemed to come from the golden skin of the ladies.

“Something is wrong with the lightning, Mother,” admitted young Spock.

Leonard gave him a stern, “Grayson,” but Amanda was not to be silenced.

“Leonard,” interrupted Amanda, “we should be going.” The tone in her voice made young Spock shiver in apprehension. His father looked like he was to protest until he caught the look in her face.

“We could wait until the end of Act II,” suggested Grayson.

And that was the suggestion taken. Despite the opera spiralling out of control, as the protagonists and lovers quarrelled and fought and insulted each other at the party represented onstage. The only moment when the action of the performance made him forget the sudden fear in his mother’s eyes was when the hero dropped bills of money at his lover’s feet, and declared her a libertine before the entire public by roaring out _“I have paid my whore!”_ Almost on cue, thunder boomed away and the heroine fainted away from the shame.

Thus the boy was once again drawn to the action and observed it almost as calmly as he had done before the emergency that had arisen. But neither Leonard nor Amanda were fully concentrating, and were the first ones to stand when Act II ended with a final aria from the soprano. Amanda took her son’s hand; something she hadn’t done for years in public, and led him to the entrance of the box in spite of the protests of his father’s co workers at the box. Leonard took his time to apologize for the inconvenience, but Amanda fled the scene promptly with her son.

“Mother, this is - ” Spock was unable to word his bafflement properly as he ran behind his mother. “You could at least try to explain what it is that - !”

“Grayson, we don’t have time!” objected his mother as the two made their way through the red carpet that became the stairs to the main foyer. “We have to leave now. Your father will be joining us soon - but - ”

The lights dimmed and flickered the more they ran. Spock was a logical child - the faulty lights did not concern him, as there was a thunderstorm outside and the lighting had already been faulty in the opera itself. What did worry him was when they reached the foyer of the theatre, and found the ladies in gold, fresh in their performance outfits, blocking the door. The guards were doing nothing about it.

“No,” breathed his mother.

That was the last word Spock heard his mother say. The two had tried to fight their way through the women, but the struggle was wild and no matter how much Spock pleaded the guards to do something, they would not budge. The strange metal women had drawn _swords_ , once just props for the performance, and sliced down his mother before him. It must have been the terror and adrenaline that had caused him to fight back and pick up one of the fallen swords to attack the women, but by the time he had battered them all away by miracle only, she had passed on.

* * *

It wasn’t later until he looked them up that he found out that they were called the Keledones, and he was at camp paying for what had happened. Made by Hephaestus. Golden. This seemed much more relevant information than the truths that had been dropped on him after the night that had ruined his life: his father was an Olympian god that refused to make himself known to him, that his "father" he had grown up with wanted nothing more to do with him than was necessary after the tragedy that had shaken them both. And that his status as a half-blood was what had driven the short-circuited Keledones to come for him and his family. That was fresh on his mind for years and years as he attended the camp. There was no point being bitter about his parentage, or the grudge his father now held against him. No, it was the memory of the singers that truly made him bitter. But it was a bitterness that few saw, or even suspected. Chiron and Pike were two of the ones that suspected, but they made no mention of this. After all...he was healing, was he not?

Automatons could be just as much a danger as monsters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I have begun to craft out a proper adventure of the Enterprise crew in this world, but shh, don't tempt me to write it, I don't want to end up being disappointing. Just know that if I do end up developing it, there will be a reasonable explanation for the short-circuiting for the Keledones. It involves the work of a friend with a name starting with N, but you didn't hear that from me. Also, I DID NOT KNOW HOW TO NAME SAREK SO YEAH LEONARD NIMOY REFERENCE (kill me now). Anyways, if anyone could leave feedback if they could that'd be wonderful? Please?


	4. The God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of how Leonard H. McCoy, "Bones", came to learn about the world of the Greek gods, does not come easily for him to say, but it sure does translate into bitterness against his father, Apollo.

There was rustling nearby, and it was enough to interrupt Spock. Again, the older camper drew his sword and turned around to face whatever was coming for them. The sound came from within the woods, and its source did not hesitate to identify himself.

“Hey, it’s just me; the head of the Apollo Cabin,” said the shadow from within the woods. Soon he came out to the moonlight, which revealed one of the older campers, about eighteen, with an ornate Apollo bow and a black leather jacket. The camper pulled back his hood, and Leonard McCoy, head of the Apollo Cabin, proceeded to squint distrustfully at the unusual scene before him. The arrow he held with his bow hand he grabbed again with the other to put it back in the leather quiver on his back. Just a month ago, Jim had felt distrustful of his sour expression, but now the unclaimed camper welcomed the head of Apollo with a laugh.

“Oh, I've never been happier to see you, Bones. Hope you're taking tonight's defeat well.”

“Half my cabin wants to marry you and half my cabin wants to kill you, take that as you will,” grumbled the Apollo demigod. "Now what gods-damned mess have you gotten into?”

“I believe this is one of the traps the Hephaestus cabin set up for the last Capture the Flag game,” explained Spock to Bones. “Were you present the last time the traps caused any trouble?”

“Do I look like one of those mad scientist-tinkerers of Cabin Nine to you?” Spock did not answer Bones’ rhetorical question. “And I don't trust 'em, either. Last time it was M’Benga the one that found the two kids that got trapped. I hope you don't have any heart problems, Jim. You should be fine as long as you’re cut free soon.” Bones came to Jim's side and began to pull at the chain. “What was the name of the kid that invented these things? Something Scott?”

“Is that the same Montgomery Scott that was nearly kicked out for refusing the offering to the gods?” asked Spock.

Jim wiggled his trapped foot, as it had begun to fall asleep. Being upside down was getting old, very fast.

“That's the one. Gotta admire his pluck, even if it was the quickest way to bring about Mr. D's fury,” admitted Bones. He gave one last look at the trap before retrieving an arrow from his quiver and slinging his bow behind his back. “I got an idea on how to free him. What's-Your-Name, help me get on the tree. I'm not one of those Demeter hippies and I certainly haven't been doing time on the lava wall. Hope it doesn't have a dryad in it or anything.”

“My name is Spock,” corrected Spock, but did as he was told. Soon Bones was doing his best to pry open the metal trap with the tip of the arrow without the arrowhead, and only succeeded in snapping it in half. Bones’ answer was an eloquent, Southern-sounding swear.

“Judging by the symbols on the chain, McCoy, you won't be able to undo it on your own,” said Spock. “It looks like the work of a Hecate demigod.”

“Good god, man, at least let me try first,” growled Bones. “This just _had_ to be the work of the two camp heretics. Couldn’t feel worse for anyone that one campfire, even if they were stupid enough to piss off a god right in front of them. If Chiron had left dinner earlier, they wouldn’t be human right now.”

“You can reject the offering to the gods?” Jim almost wished he’d done that when he’d had the chance. Between the bullshit his godly father had made his mother go through and his expected silence even when Jim had arrived at camp, Jim could safely say the old man didn’t deserve the better part of his hamburger every night.

“Oh, if you're discreet and not head of a Cabin. Scott and Keenser just happened to do it just when Mr. D was looking over their table. And lemme tell you, being turned into a dolphin or a jaguar is one of the more merciful fates you can get at Mr. D's hands.”

“Yet I have seen you quietly ‘forgetting’ the offering more than once,  McCoy,” observed Spock. Bones was now resorting to try to saw through the metal with the arrowhead.

“I’d appreciate you’d keep that information to yourself,” spat Bones at the unclaimed camper. Then, lower, “You'd be surprised how much of an ass Apollo is,” muttered the head of Cabin, but still both Spock and Jim could fully hear the remark. “Not all of us got introduced to this place through monster attacks.”

“Isn't that a better thing?” asked Jim.

“Not really.”

* * *

For the most frank person in his house, Leonard was sure being the most stoic person at his father’s funeral. Stoic only in not spilling tears and keeping a cool demeanor, because the thirteen-year-old was taking every opportunity he could to take offense at the day. Sunny day? Open his black umbrella with a jerk. A quick and painless service? Mutter about the frivolity of the pastor to his mother. But he didn’t get past protest for the sake of her, because everyone else wasn’t in the mood. He could only grip the handle of the umbrella and march on with the car that held his father’s coffin. Following the crowd without a word was easier than he thought it would be.

There was one man in the crowd, dressed in the appropriate black, that could see past the young man’s irritable demeanor for the grief that he preferred to keep private. Said man was also responsible for the irreverent brilliant day of the funeral, until young Leonard had complained. Then the wind had cooperated and allowed for the clouds to cover the sun until it was the ‘right’ funeral weather for Leonard. It still didn’t please him entirely.

The mourners began whispering about rain, but Leonard did not chime in on the suspicion that it wasn’t going to rain. So the march continued unperturbed until they arrived at the cemetery, when the young Leonard caught sight of the young, unknown stranger at the back. Something about his heavy-set jaw reminded him of someone, but beyond that small intriguing detail, it was just another excuse for Leonard’s temper to flare up. Who was this stranger to his family? Why was he interrupting his father’s funeral? He was about to let his mouth go off again until he caught sight again of his mother’s similarly stoic face. It was best to leave this for later.

The pastor began again to give the usual eulogies he would at any other man’s funeral, and Leonard made sure to forget every word of it with a furious vengeance. It was forty minutes of empty talk, but when consumed by bitterness, it seemed to pass by in a minute. He was only waiting for this to be done with so he could go home and deal with it one his own without anyone bothering him and his mother any more about how painful it must have been for them -

“Mind if I talk with you for a moment?”

The teenager turned around with a sneer on his face to - surprise, surprise - the face of the blond man in the crowd that had sparked his curiosity.

“We haven’t even met. But I’ll allow it when you do.”

This drew his mother’s attention. Eleonora McCoy paled like she had seen a ghost at the sight of the blond man. He began apologizing for his presence with open palms, but Eleonora was firm. “No. Get out. We’re not doing this now, Apollo. You’re leaving. You didn’t show up thirteen years ago, you didn’t show up two months when David got bad, or three days ago when he died. At any moment you could have - ”

“If - if you want me gone, I’ll go,” sighed the aforementioned Apollo. “But you’ll eventually have to let me talk to my son.”

“What kind of sick joke is this?” spat Leonard, whose icy demeanor was beginning to fall away to full-blown anger. “Get the _fuck_ out of my father’s funeral!”

Apollo looked ashamed of himself. “I’ll come when you’re ready for it.” Then he turned to Eleanora. “But you have to listen to me about this. It’s time for him to head to Camp Half-Blood already. If not...you know how I know what I know. If he doesn’t learn to fight in time, he’s going to start running into monsters - ”

“I said _get out!_ ” The order was much louder than Leonard had intended for it to be; loud enough so that the crowd looked back at him in bewilderment. Apollo had the face of a cornered man, who was now only looking at Eleonora for a sign.

“You heard him,” she said quietly. “Leave.”

The figure of the stranger flickered and vanished, which made Leonard almost jump in place. His mother also seemed a little rattled, but everyone continued murmuring as if the man had just walked out and left the cemetery. His mother’s arm held him close, which made him pull back. “Who was that? What’s...what’s…?” Leonard was now wordless at whatever had happened, even if his mother was not. She seemed only resigned.

  
“I’ll tell you at home,” she mumbled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now! I apologize for the delay with this chapter and the last one; school has begun to come in the way. As for an explanation for this chapter: David McCoy died of cancer no matter how much Eleonora begged her godly ex-boyfriend to come by and do her a solid for her. Thus, she holds him accountable, and so does Bones, for his death. Not to mention he basically showed up at David's funeral to drop a seriously emotionally conflicting bomb on Leonard, so yeah. Bones thinks he's a class-A prick. Also, in one of the later chapters you'll find out how Bones met Jim. It's a funny story and it involves the Hunters of Artemis. For now, just roll with "they know each other and Bones is really protective of Jim even though Jim won't let himself be protected". Next up, Uhura's backstory! It won't be nearly as dark as what has happened so far, but still, keep your eyes peeled. Thank you for the comments and kudos.


	5. The Hellhound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nyota Uhura gives some valuable input to three very stubborn demigods about the importance of unity among their kind.

“What is going on here?”

All three of the demigods were startled by the new voice joining the fray. The first one to let his guard down was Spock, who inclined his head to the guest with respect. “Good evening, Nyota. I hope you aren’t taking tonight’s defeat too hard.” The Aphrodite demigod grinned and shrugged, as if it couldn’t be helped...until she caught sight of James Kirk hanging from the tree beside her boyfriend. A cloud of irritation crossed her warm brown face just at the sight of him.

Said stranger was familiar to Jim already, from an unfortunate encounter with one of her half-siblings in the Aphrodite cabin. As it was impossible for him to convey any more annoyance at the situation he was in, Jim bit back a sigh and just rolled his eyes.

“Nice to see you too, Spock,” she greeted Spock. Then her tone hardened. “Kirk.”

“Because, of course everyone from the side of the game I just beat singlehandedly is here to watch me tied up to a tree,” groaned Jim.

The Aphrodite camper gave Spock a quick hug, but her right hand remained nestled in hers when she pulled away. Nyota Uhura always took action first, which was why Kirk had mistaken her to be from any other cabin but from Cabin Ten. True to Kirk’s maxim about Uhura, she then turned back to Kirk with an icy glare. “You'll be pleased to know Gaila isn't mad at you,” informed Uhura, even if she made it sound like bad news.

“I'll worry about that once I'm right side up again,” retorted Jim. “You got any ideas? The Bonesaw here isn't doing great with a celestial bronze arrow.”

“This shit doesn't even look like celestial bronze to me,” protested Bones from up the tree. “It's resisting my arrows, and it looks too gray-ish for that.”

Apparently Uhura took this as an invitation to try and help. She stepped away from Spock (Jim’s eyes caught how her hand lingered in his even when she were walking away) and wiped her hands on her camo pants before making her way up on her own. “May I?”

Bones lifted his hands in surrender. “I'm a healer, not a weaponsmith. All yours.”

Uhura pursed her lips and pushed her long black ponytail back. “Okay. Don't freak out.” Uhura then reached into her jacket pocket and revealed a gleaming pistol. Bones swore again from the surprise. “I don't use this in camp!” she explained. "This is only for moments when I need to fight monsters, and you don't know what you could come up against in these woods." Which was a reasonable explanation to Kirk, but Bones scrambled down the tree as quickly as he could.

“You're not going to shoot the chain point-bl - ”

Uhura silenced the unclaimed camper with a swift shot at the chain that held him.

“Argh! For the love of - ” Once again Jim was left flailing about mid-air as the chain shook under the bullet's impact. However, Bones and Spock were both looking up at the link Uhura had shot at in wonder. The awe in Bones' face gave way to disappointment. “Wait, what happened?”

“The link Nyota shot off seemed to almost break, but it resealed itself by magic,” explained Spock. “Such was the thorough nature of the spells cast by the sorcerer.”

Jim was liking the makers of the trap less by the minute.

“It could also be celestial bronze and steel together,” deduced Uhura. “That, and the magic, could make it so resistant. But it doesn’t make much of a difference in fighting except that it can hurt mortals too. If anything, that’s a liability. That’s why the Hephaestus Cabin usually doesn’t mess with that kinds of alloys...then again, Scotty doesn’t enjoy sticking to his cabin rules.”

“Scotty? Wait, you’re friends with him?” asked Bones.

Uhura climbed down the tree. “Yes. Yes, I am. When you don’t have the support of half-siblings, not even one, to help you deal with all of this,” she motioned to the woods and meant the side of the world of the supernatural, “it’s difficult. You had Christine, you had M’Benga, you had Liz - ”

Bones did not looked pleased at the mention of the said Liz.

“And what did he have? I mean, sure, Keenser is his best friend but everyone else keeps running his inventions down. I’d appreciate it if you stopped talking shit about him.” The Aphrodite camper stared back at the suspended Kirk. She sighed in resignation. “Guess that’s one of the harder parts of being unclaimed. Gaila and Jan were lifesavers for me there. Literally.”

“Literally?” probed Jim.

“Yeah.

* * *

“Dad!” The twelve-year-old’s voice echoed through their luxurious Brooklyn apartment. “Dad, you home yet?” Nyota pocketed her apartment keys and slung her schoolbag onto the grey couch in the living room. No response again, but the girl was not worried. She pulled out her cellphone from the schoolbag to check for anything new. Then again, it was only 4:20 in the afternoon - the deal between Alhamisi and Nyota Uhura was, panic at the 45 minute mark. But it had never gotten to that point. For all of the linguistics professor’s kindness to stay behind a few minute with his students, he always made a point to push punctuality with his daughter.

The teenager then pocketed her phone too in her skirt pocket. Some of her friends joked that it was her ADHD that wouldn’t let her sit still in one place for too long, but she was just overactive as she threw off her school shoes, checked the fridge for anything to eat, began messaging one of her friends in search for a response, and hauled a bowl full of pineapple cubes to her room to go shift through the channels at her room’s TV.

The pineapple went uneaten when Nyota dropped the bowl when she looked into her room. Sitting on her bed was a monstrous black mastiff the side of the bed itself, chewing through one of her pillows ravenously, and making intimidating growling noises as it tore it apart.

Nyota swore in Swahili to herself and stepped back. Almost as if the monster picked up her increasing heart rate, the thing turned its head to the teenager and glared at her with glowing red eyes. The phantom dog could have easily been conjured up on a fantasy book.

“Hey, boy,” she stammered. At first, the anxiety was tangible in her tone, and the hound picked up on it immediately. But Nyota was not one to let her fear go to her head. So she bit back a scream of fear and looked away from the creature’s amber eyes and continued, “It’s okay.” She even lifted a hand in surrender. With this, she stepped back, one careful step at the time. Soon she was out of the dog’s sight and back into the foyer before the steps. This almost made Uhura feel home free to pull out her phone and -

There was creaking from the bed within the room and soon Nyota had company again, looking up at the teenager with...no, Nyota daren’t look into its eyes. After all, most mammals interpreted eye contact as aggression. It would be stupid if she looked down and just stared at him after the progress she’d made. Still, without even looking down, she began speaking again to the dog. It rubbed itself on her side and growled again.

“That’s rude,” protested Nyota, but she let out a laugh out of sheer terror, and the fact that it had left her cellphone pocket alone for her to call. The laugh seemed to pacify the dog enough so that the growling had just become some whimpering. The hound began trying to lick her hand, which was enough to put every hair on her body stand on end. But she merely gripped her cellphone for support and instead let it lick away. “Gross!”

It was a bad decision to just try and move away, so the girl bent her knees very slowly, and sat down. The dog did not mind, and it just settled down alongside her. After a minute of silence as she dialed her father, her new pet began protesting again, loudly, so she did her best to soothe it by stroking its fur lightly and mumbling reassurances. “Ssh. What are you even doing in my apartment? How did you even get in? I mean, is there some kind of magic portal? And where do dogs your size even come from?”

The dog did not budge. Or reply.

Finally, her father picked up on the other side. “Hey baby, I’ll be home in ten, okay?”

“Dad...there’s a huge black dog the size of my bed in our place. It’s...terrifying. If I piss it off, I’m sure it’s going to rip me apart.” Her voice went up an octave or two. “D-do I call 911 or something? It...it kind of sat on my lap and won’t go away.” Once again she laughed nervously, and the dog responded...by falling asleep on her. She was pretty sure the noises coming out of its snout was snoring.

There was stunned silence from her father, and all Nyota could hear was some police car in the back, honking cars, and a passerby fading out of earshot. “Nyota, listen to me. Do not move from where you are, and I need you to call the number…” Nyota held on to his every word and every number. “You’ll need to tell whoever answers, no matter what they say they are, that you’re a demigod and that you’re having trouble with a monster.”

Nyota’s mouth dropped open. “I…”

“Nyota.” His voice was both stern and afraid at the same time. “I will explain when I get home, but this is very, very important. I’ll get home soon and explain everything, but meanwhile, you need to do exactly as I say. Okay?”

“Yes.” After a hurried goodbye from her father, Nyota tried not to let her fear crawl into her twitching hand as she scratched the dog’s ear. It shifted under her, causing her heart to miss a few beats, then returned to its slumber. It was the best moment to call whatever-her-father-wanted-her-to-call.

* * *

The worst time for anyone to discuss the secrets of their ancestry was over a killer dog, or as Nyota’s father called it, a hellhound. But that was the following hour of that horrible evening: just trying to discuss the truth and shifting through what seemed real and what didn’t. It was hard to accept all of this, but it was hard to discuss the possibility that her father just might be insane firstly, without being disrespectful, and secondly, over concrete proof of his claims.

Soon an hour became two, then three, and there was no choice but for the two of them to eat over the hellhound while under the promise of Camp Half-Blood to send a team as fast as they could to dispose of the hellhound (Nyota winced at the thought of someone killing the gigantic mass of fur that was currently snoring on her lap). Another call, and whoever was on the line warned them not to call again, just in case any other monster were attracted to the device. It became a stressful wait, but not a horrible one, if her father was there to help.

“Maybe we don’t have to kill him.”

Her father laughed. “Nyota, when you said you wanted a pet I didn’t think you’d pick one so big.”

This was out of the question when the doorbell rang and her father set out and scrambled to get the door. Nyota whispered to the hellhound, “If you live, I’m keeping you.”

“Yes, this is Nyota.”

Standing at the top of the stairs, before her, was one of the strangest trios Nyota had ever met in her life. Her father was beside a fifteen-year-old redhead with curly hair and a sunny smile, but holding a large knife as if it were just a spoon. On her left was a tall young man of probably seventeen, with a buzz cut and piercing blue eyes that zeroed in on the hellhound with fear. The last one was a small blond girl, probably eight, who was also wielding a knife, but it was at least appropriate for her size. Not her age, though.

“Hey.” The redhead was the first one to speak and kneel by her. “Don’t worry. When I kill it, it’s not going to bleed. Monsters kind of...dissolve away when you kill them with this,” and she motioned to the gleaming golden blade. “This is celestial bronze.”

“Wouldn’t it be more useful as bullets?” murmured Nyota, who at this point was starting to question everything.

“Yeah, but no bullets, no evidence for any cop to wonder what kids like us are doing with weapons,” said the man with the buzz cut. “They can’t see the weapons, by the way, Most mortals can’t see the supernatural; all they see is a smokescreen that edits what they see into something they can understand. So if you had called the cops, they probably would have seen an ordinary dog, and called animal control...and it would have been very messy. But more importantly, it would have killed you.”

A shiver ran down the twelve-year-old’s spine. Through the hours of cuddling up to the dog, she had almost forgotten the horrible amber lights in its eyes and the menacing growls it had made when it had first seen her. “Then - then why didn’t it?”

“Ah, that’s the real question.” The redhead took the hand that was over the dog’s fur, and squeezed it for comfort. “By what your dad told us, we think your mom was...the goddess Aphrodite.”

“What?” So her father had told her about how the fables of Greek mythology were real, and that she was the daughter of a Greek goddess, and she had taken it quietly. Now, she had the opportunity to reply. “That’s crazy. Do I look like someone who could be related to the goddess of love and beauty?”

“Yes.” The little blond girl piped up, and the honesty in her voice made Nyota’s mouth open. “More than me and Gaila.”

Gaila (who must have been the redhead) smiled. “You see, Janice and I are both daughters of Aphrodite and believe us. You’re not just beautiful, Nyota, you’re one of us.”

“She’s right.” Her father looked a little starstruck just at the mention of Aphrodite.

Nyota was still aghast. “But we don’t even look like half-sisters!”

“Gods can take many forms, any they wish,” said the young man. “You should see how different I look from my half-brothers. And my father, Dionysius, at least in the form he usually takes.” The little blond girl giggled. “Yeah, bully the camp’s director’s son, Janice. See where that ends you,” joked the young man.

“But Hendorff!”

Nyota sighed. “This...this is a whole lot to take in. And I still don’t get why my mother being...Aphrodite...have anything to do with why Cujo hasn’t killed me yet.”

“Some of Aphrodite’s kids have this power...called charmspeak,” explained Gaila patiently. “It’s like this charm, when you speak. Persuasion. People like listening to you. It sometimes works on monsters, depending on how powerful you are. I only have a little of it, and Janice doesn’t at all. It’s a fantastic gift. You’re lucky to have it.” With this, she placed the blade of her sword gently over the hellhound’s neck. “Stay very still. If I mess this up, it ends badly for all of us.”

The hellhound whimpered, and Nyota’s heart sank.

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved writing this chapter. Ah, writing for Uhura makes me so happy, even if half the time I'm afraid I'm messing her up. Still, here goes yet another chapter!


	6. The Horses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Help is on the way in the form of the local swordplay champion, Hikaru Sulu. Because who else would you want on your side other than a friendly, loyal and badass son of Ares.

Uhura became silent when a loud, heated argument came within earshot. All four demigods turned (or tried in Jim's case) towards the argument. Bones even readied his bow and notched an arrow just in case the argument were the trick of some clever monster. Uhura motioned him to put down the bow when the participants of the fight became clear to them.

“You're overreacting, McKenna. What are you going to do, cut him open? Because that's what you look like you're going to do.”

“We're obviously going to disarm him, Sulu. _Then_ we beat him up with fists.” This harsh answer came from a girl. “God, it's like you don't even care that this is the third time we lose Capture the Flag in a row, and this is the most humiliating one yet! I can get being defeated by the Athena cabin, but an unclaimed little shit like that Kirk kid - ”

“McKenna, losing street cred isn't the end of the world. Let it go,” retorted Sulu.

There was tense silence from McKenna, but the demigods finally caught a tinny “...owe me. How do you think we survive in San Francisco? Do we mind our own business? No! The monsters…” once again McKenna’s voice went out of earshot, “...we go on overkill. The moment your enemies lose respect for you, you’re done.” Silence again. “You know that, Sulu.”

Luckily for the hidden audience, Sulu’s reply was still audible. "You can go bully the unclaimed kids on your own, Hilary. I’m going back to the cabin, and don’t even bother trying to assign cleaning duty on Yuki in revenge. I'll do it myself.”

There was some more arguing on McKenna’s part, but she was silenced by his walking away. Some other guy piped up in McKenna’s defense, “The purpose of assigning work as punishment is not to encourage more insubordination, Hikaru.” This still went unheard, as more voices piped up, “Sulu! Sulu, don’t be like that. Come back!”

“I'll keep going with the insubordination as long as you all refer to any other cabin outside our own as ‘enemies’, Val. No offense, McKenna, but that line of thinking is paranoid whenever you’re not fighting monsters.”

And that was the end of the argument. There was footsteps in their direction, but only one pair, so neither Bones nor Uhura bothered to raise their weapons. Soon they were greeted by the familiar Ares camper and his distinctive celestial bronze saber glinting in the moonlight. Said saber could also turn into an rapier or spear, and it was the envy of half the camp. But what caused even more envy was the title Sulu held as the best swordsman in camp. The sixteen-year-old had beat even Pike in a fair match, more than once. If there was a name every in camp knew, it was Hikaru Sulu’s.

The Ares demigod over to the trapped Jim with an intrigued glance. “Huh. Lucky McKenna went the other way,” he commented. “She’d give a victory at Capture the Flag to find you.”

“Yeah, thanks for not bringing her here,” said Bones. “I'd hate to waste ambrosia to patch up Jim after being used as an Ares cabin piñata.”

“Real nice, Bones.”

Sulu still couldn’t look away from the trap from the hilarity. “I thought the Hephaestus cabin had taken this down. McKenna personally kicked Scotty’s ass for taking her out with one of these in the last games. Still didn’t win him any favors with Tucker - I mean, no matter if you help win the game, if you catch your own head counselor in your traps, you’re done for.”

Jim tried to picture the intimidating Hilary McKenna in his situation, dangling from a foot and swearing in Ancient Greek, and failed to do so without giggling. Sulu himself grinned at the memory.

“I owe you one, Zorro.”

“You'll owe me more. Scotty was part of the people that Pike sent to get you out of the woods after McKenna called dibs on your blood.” Jim sighed in relief. “After all, he's on probation. Tucker likes to keep him on his toes.”

“God bless you, Sulu,” said Bones. Despite having known about the Greek gods for years, Bones steadfastly kept to his swears and blasphemy.

“I think I saw him head to the other side of the creek. As far away from McKenna as he could,” commented Sulu. “She's not that bad outside camp, but I'm going to say that to him, or half the Athena cabin. Alright, half the camp. She makes me wish I wasn’t related to Ares.”

The head counselor of Apollo exchanged an uneasy glance or two from both Spock and Uhura, as if he were about to bring up the elephant in the room. He even sounded uncomfortable when he addressed Sulu again. “Look, Sulu, I know it's none of my business but I think I speak for all the other heads of cabin when I say that everyone’s betting on you overthrowing her any day now.”

Sulu’s eyes went to the ground. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but so far I don't have any quests to hold against her and she's still three years older than me. So…”

“Which is why it is imperative that you take a quest, for the wellbeing of your cabin,” chimed in Spock. Uhura nodded for further encouragement, but didn’t offer anything herself. Still the swordsman did not stay to linger about the benefits of pulling a coup d'état on his own cabin leader.

“I think I know where Scotty last was. I'll be quick.” The Ares camper made his way again through the dark of the woods. The importance of getting Scotty there to free Jim was not worth the discussion they’d just had, so no one protested. Even so, Bones gave a sigh.

“That the guy that kicked Pike’s ass at swordplay the day I got here, right?”

Bones rolled his eyes. “Yes, Jim. If he’d been in charge of the Ares cabin when you arrived, you wouldn’t have had that fantastic meeting with McKenna and Hendorff and the lava wall would still be standing. But there’s this weird comradeship between the San Francisco demigods that I really don’t get. They team up and hunt down monsters and target young demigods to teach them about monsters. A fantastic system if it weren’t run by Eisenhower herself.” He sat back under the tree to wait. “In my opinion, Sulu should just kick her ass and get over with it. I’m tired of healing the Athena and Hermes twelve-year-olds that get in her way.”

“If there was no system in San Francisco, Bones, he’d be dead,” replied Uhura, whose eyes still lingered where Sulu left to. “Let’s just hope what favors she’s done him get repaid soon enough.”

* * *

Hikaru Sulu had never met a monster in his life before being introduced to Camp Half-Blood, and it was no coincidence. He wasn’t to know this, of course, until he met his protectors face-to-face. Up until he was thirteen he only met friendly strangers every now and then who would do their best to keep him out of a certain place, but what was he to do. He was from San Francisco. It was a centaur that had introduced Hikaru and his sister Yuki to the world of the supernatural, the nicer kind. And before that...the horses.

The first thing he thought of when he remembered the day he met Balios and Xanthos was his sister’s shrill squeals of delight of “Hikaru! Look!”

It was what had gotten him to look away from the Olympic swimming pools in the sports club in wonder, and to the field of green. Beyond that were the stables for the horses; but one of the little sports that Hikaru didn’t care to try was horseback riding. At least, that was until Yuki dared him to catch up to her. He often tried to act like the unconcerned and superior older brother, only to end up baited by Yuki’s hotheaded challenges. And the latest challenge was, “You wouldn’t be able to beat me in a race on horseback.” This was enough for him to run after her.

“Yuki, we’re only here while Mom talks to her therapist!” he protested. “I can’t take that bet.”

“I bet Aiko would,” shot back Yuki. She had arrived at the corral and peeked over to see if she could get any further into the stables to see the horses. “How much does this place cost, anyway?”

“A lot,” sighed Hikaru. He took a look at the stables. “We’re only lucky Hosato’s doing Mom a discount.” There was a loud whinny from the stables, which only made Yuki even more excited about them. Hikaru looked over her in the usual non-plussed older sibling way. His sister was provoked into pushing him. “Hey!”

“Stop giving me that look! As if you weren’t that big a nerd in fencing!”

“Alright, alright,” he held her off. One of the stable doors opened, and the two siblings soon ended up gawking at the rider that came out of it. How the two were to remember her every day and curse their bad luck at the fact that they actually shared blood.

“You two new?” Her long blond hair was tucked under the black helmet, and every bit of her red-and-black uniform was pristine. “I thought Phol was going to warn us every time were was anybody else coming to the club - undo the gate, kid?” Yuki complied to what the blond girl said, and allowed her and her black horse to pass with a starstruck expression.

Hikaru was a lot harder to dazzle. The perfect posture and arrogant staredown at his sister - hadn’t he seen countless of her type at their school. He’d still beat all of her kind at any kind of test. Run circles around them at track, biology, history, debate. Anything. “You’ll be glad to hear we’re not new.”

“But we wish.”

Hikaru shot Yuki a look, but she was too busy staring at the blond girl. Yuki was eleven and this girl probably was fifteen, but she kept looking up to her like some sort of queen. Figured.

The unknown girl chuckled. “You don’t see horses much, do you. Want to see my jumps?”

“Absolutely.” Yuki was now managing to hold down her wonder, and she followed the rider without a word. Later on, Hikaru was to mutter McKenna every time this happened. It would be often.

However, had McKenna not just taken away his sister to impress her with her skill, Hikaru wouldn’t have gone into the stables out of mere curiosity. Undoing the padlock at the gate, he went in and placed his hands behind his back. His eyes widened when he looked in. There were horses of every sort looking over their doors curiously at him, with the exception of two at the end that were whinnying in distress. At the sight of Hikaru, the two stood silent and perked their ears. He didn’t understand what this meant until he crossed to the end of the line to look up closely.

“Huh.” One was a white horse, with splotches of brown and a glossy back mane. This one was the one closest to him, and it stared into his eyes with what Hikaru would swear was wonder. The kind of wonder when you bumped into someone you hadn’t met a long time ago.

The other gave a low neigh for his attention. Its coffee-colored coat was slightly more dirty, but the white socks still looked clean enough. It shifted in its place for further attention from Hikaru. On the stupidest impulse, he reached out to touch its snout. Surprisingly, it didn’t edge away.

“...Where did you come from?”

Hikaru’s head whipped to the exit of the stables and nearly had a heart attack at the sight of the newcomer at it. The sun’s ray shadowed the silhouette of a centaur.

“Holy m - I - ”

The centaur walked into the stables when Hikaru would not reply. He was wearing a blue jacket with golden buttons, and was wearing his long black hair in a ponytail. But he didn’t look threatening at all. His eyes were those of a teacher, Hikaru could tell. Now that the sunlight fell on the centaur and didn’t just frame him, Hikaru could also see his toffee-brown skin face and lips set in a bewildered smile.

“You’re not one of the new demigods at the sports club - but you can see through the Mist?” the centaur mused quietly. “No, you’re not a mortal. You’re most obviously a demigod.”

“I - I’ll leave,” stammered Hikaru. He couldn’t bring himself to close his mouth from the shock he’d received, and the fact that the hallucination was not fading away. Beyond the entrance of the stables, he could see the blond girl on her black horse and Yuki herself with her hands in her hair as she stared in astonishment at the centaur.

The centaur shook his head. “You needn’t if you don’t wish to. This area is usually closed off to non-members - mortals. Had you been one, you would have seen just empty field and nothing else of interest.” He was now by Hikaru’s side, and looking over at the two horses that had caught Hikaru’s attention. “I believe you’ve befriended Balios and Xanthos.”

Hikaru finally closed his mouth and gulped. “I can’t ride horses.”

“Really? Curious. Yes, very curious.”

At the entrance, the blond older girl was now pulling her black horse behind her and gawking like an idiot at Hikaru. “Pholus! I - I - he’s touching Xanthos. _He’s touching Xanthos and he’s not getting his arm ripped off._ "

“I can see that, Hilary,” replied Pholus, who was quietly rolling his eyes to himself. Now, more kindly, he turned to the terrified Hikaru. “What is your name?”

“...I’m Hikaru Sulu.”

* * *

Long story short: Sulu had managed to befriend the immortal horses of Achilles and Patroclus, Balios and Xanthos, for the first time, since the death of their owners. But more importantly: he, Yuki and Aiko were the demigod children of a Greek god. Hosato, his mother’s occupational therapist, had also found his way to the stables in search for the children, and helped the two Sulus ease their way into this new strange new world they’d bumped into. Soon, the monsters had come up at their door, and the two were now given a new duty.

Join Camp Half-Blood. Learn to fight to keep themselves alive. And if they wanted, join the demigods of San Francisco in ensuring that no one else like them died at the hands of a monster when they were in the worst city for a demigod to live. There could be worse secrets to unearth about parentage, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this took a while to write, not because I don't love writing Sulu (because I really do, he's pretty underappreciated and I keep scouring for Sulu-centric fics everywhere) but because I don't know shit about horses. Anyways - Pholus is an actual Greek mythology good centaur. He died in his myth, but so did Chiron so I'll take the excuse of "the gods needed him to train heroes". The demigods of San Francisco have this system to take down monsters and potential monster threats every once in a while so demigods don't get hurt before they're identified. Also, Hosato is Sulu's dad in AOS canon, and here he's the Sulus' cool stepdad. Any other questions, shoot. As well as comments, please. If you know, you have any.
> 
> Edit: McKenna is a girl because she appears as a girl in the Star Trek Ongoing tie-in comics, which I follow. Apparently there have been retcons through these comics and so I consider them canon.


	7. The Vampire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Sulu doesn't show up for half an hour, the group begins to worry, but not once they have Chekov's reassurance.

Jim, Spock, Bones and Uhura were not ten minutes into the wait before they became bored. Uhura and Spock had sat at the foot of the tree and began talking quietly about the events of the Capture the Flag game, while Bones himself had started pacing about the tree. The Apollo medic happened upon an apple tree not that far from where they had settled. Thus began an impromptu archery match with himself, as he tried to hit as many apples as he could without hitting any other tree - if they hurt a dryad, all four of them could get into serious trouble. This went on for fifteen minutes, and Bones was about to call out that he was going to look for Sulu when a dark figure in the forest caught his attention. The bow was pointed away from the tree canopies and went back into the glade, and the son of Apollo cried out, “Who’s there?”

“Oh!” The figure in the dark panicked at the sight of the bow and hid behind a tree. “Could you please put the bow down?”

Bones snorted, then audibly addressed the camper, “I’m not going to shoot you, kid. Come out.”

The stranger obliged. It was a young fourteen-year-old, with curly light brown hair and freckles across his face. He was holding a golden spyglass in one of his hands, but it went to a special extra pocket he had arranged by his sword scabbard when he came up against the four fellow demigods. His light green eyes looked up to the tied up Jim, that was now beginning to fall asleep between intervals.

“...but I zhought the Hephaestus Cabin vas on our side!”

Jim had befriended Pavel Chekov a few days after arriving at camp, solely with the intention of coming up with a plan to strike back at McKenna and Hendorff. But the two had actually become good friends in the time Jim had spent at camp. Year-rounder Chekov and his Atheba cabin mates were probably the greatest threat to the Ares reign of terror in the Capture the Flag games. Now the two had made a mess out of the latest game...which set McKenna against Chekov as much as it set her against Kirk.

Uhura laughed from her place beneath the tree. “Yeah, they were, Chekov, but this was one of the traps left from the old game.”

“But didn’t zhe head counselor of Hephaestus take zhem down?”

“I wish,” added Jim. “How you doing, buddy?”

“I vasn’t hurt,” admitted the kid, “but Pol broke her leg.”

“Yikes.” Jim shuddered. “Sorry about that. I didn’t expect the Greek fire to take down the whole structure. Hope you’re not in trouble.”

“No, no,” he sighed.

Uhura and Spock both stood from their place and approached the younger demigod. “But you are your cabin counselor’s second-in-command,” observed Spock. “You needn’t worry about reprimands from the rest of your cabin as you more-or-less outrank them.”

“Not when the head counselor herself broke her leg because of your actions,” replied Chekov. He was now looking across the river. “Vhy aren’t you looking for a Hephaestus cabin member to get Jim out of the trap?” he asked. The Athena kid also pulled out his spyglass and turned it to the direction of the creek that Bones was looking at.

“Because we already sent someone ten minutes ago,” replied Bones. “What are you even looking for? You can’t see anything in the dark of the woods.”

Chekov shook his head. “Not vith my spyglass.”

Bones stared at him. “That thing has night vision?”

“Anything I need at zhe moment,” replied Chekov. Spock went to his side in interest, already observing the spyglass. “It vas a gift from my mother.”

This drew different replies from all the other demigods. Jim tried to shift in his place so he could face Chekov properly to listen. Spock remained silent. Bones gave Chekov an incredulous sideways glance, while Uhura gave an interested, “Huh.” Usually, any other attention from godly parents was as uncommon as a demigod living past their thirties. They all they would have heard of something like this earlier. But the Athena cabin was dark and full of secrets - one really couldn’t expect a child of Athena to reveal something so strategically important such as a magic spyglass.

“You don’t look like you’ve done any quests - what in the name of Hades did you do to get the goddess Athena’s attention?” demanded Bones.

Apparently it was none of Bones’ business because Chekov dodged the subject with exactly what Bones and the rest wanted to hear. “Zhere are two demigods coming this way. I suppose by the low levels of energy they’re giving off, they’re neither monsters nor nature spirits.” The young Athena demigod put down his spyglass, then handed it to Spock with as much care as he could manage. “Be - be careful vith it,” warned Chekov.

“Yeah, well, three demigods could easily be two Ares kids coming to beat me up for winning tonight’s game,” protested Jim.

Spock took a look for himself. “Actually, you’ll be pleased to hear that it is indeed Hikaru Sulu coming this way, followed by another demigod...but I cannot see their face. They don’t look that far away. They are probably five minutes from meeting us.”

“It owerloads vhen it’s using too many settings at once,” admitted Chekov. “I’m sure it vas Scotty.” Spock handed the spyglass back to its rightful owner once he was done looking.

“A fascinating tool,” commented Spock. “And it is hard-pressed for an Athena demigod to reveal something so valuable to members of other cabins.”

“You needed a hand,” said Chekov. “You’re welcome.”

* * *

Whenever Pavel thought of his father, he really didn’t think about the last time he’d seen him, because it bothered him to revisit the last lies he’d told his son. _You’ll see me soon. You know enough English, Pasha. Please trust me. You’ll be safer where you’re going._ Not only that: Pavel had not felt comfortable enough trying to question his father more in the airport, so he had been speechless most of that time - the protesting had come on the ride to the airport. And then the flight itself had disturbed him greatly. His father rarely took flights, which was a costly decision, but his aviophobia had not just extended to Pavel, it also did nothing to prepare him for the turbulence of the flight. Yes, thinking about the very last time he had seen his father never did much to endear Pavel to the memory of the man.

No, it was far better to recall the day he had been thrown into the Greek myth world. Not because it was a pleasant occasion, but because it had been the last day Pavel recalled his father being most like himself, without that irrational fear bothering him, without any myths keeping them apart, either. And also because his father had torn a monster apart himself. A _mortal_. That was a good memory to have of anyone, especially of their missing father.

He had left his school early (with permission, of course) just to attend to his father’s latest conference at a recent astrophysics symposium, by bus. Even at eleven, Pavel was a self-sufficient kid. It was a demigod trait, he would learn. As well as the ADHD and dyslexia that drove his teachers up the wall. And like a child of Athena, he would not let both traits hinder him in learning. He read and read, and worked harder with what he had. Child genius, they said. His father would often contradict teachers by saying, _His talents have nothing to do with his work. Celebrate his efforts, not his brain._

Just by getting off the bus and to the university already made him feel so much better than at school - his steps were quicker than they were when he had gotten off the bus, but that may have been the time. He wasn’t late, just late to be late, and if anything bothered his father, it was tardiness. Pavel could show up whenever he was allowed by his school to the university, but he couldn’t show up at the door of the auditorium late.

And he would have arrived on time despite the crowds that gathered about the halls he needed to get through to arrive at the auditorium. It had just been that just when he had pushed his way through the many eminences and authorities, a single, bony hand reached out from within the crowd and began pulling Pavel’s arm insistently before he could get to the entrance. No matter how much he tried to pull away, this stranger was obviously stronger than him. “Let go!” he protested. The long nails of whoever was holding him were beginning to scratch, and made him shudder.

The person that emerged from the crowd, indignated and cold, was a statuesque woman of long black hair and olive skin. She would have been beautiful if it weren’t for the rather-too-long nails painted maroon that looked more like claws than nails, and the piercing blue eyes. Pavel’s amazement, however, did not last enough for him not to try and edge away. “Let me go!”

“You shouldn’t be here,” snarled the woman. Her voice was grating, and had a horrible American accent to it. But also had some other kind of accent...Greek?

“...so what?” The sheer absurdity of the situation was beginning to get to Pavel. “Get off me now!” No matter how much he tried to pull away, it was impossible. If anything, the more he jerked, the stranger her grip became. “Somebody please - ”

When he began yelping out for help, the woman began to pull him away from the crowds - and no one was doing anything to help him. “You are a child, and attending an astrophysics lecture?”

“My father is giving the lecture - I - let go! Anyone?” Still no one would look Pavel’s way.

The woman chuckled. “No one will notice, little one - this world doesn’t care for children, except for me. I do care about children.” The more the woman spoke, the more bizarre this all looked to Pavel. He punched the hand that was holding his arm so tightly, but it seemed like her skin was not hot to touch - and the eleven-year-old screamed. “Help! Somebody get this - this - maniac off of me!” True to the woman’s word, no one turned to look at them except with sideways glances, the kind you give to a mother who’s having trouble controlling her shrieking toddler.

“I am not a mania,” purred the woman, who now dragged Pavel’s arm upward so they could face each other properly. “I am _Mormo_. But it is an easy mistake to make between the creatures of the Underworld.” For a moment or two the demigod had trouble processing the words, not only because they were crazy, but because of the woman’s terrible Russian.

Pavel’s mind immediately went to the first thing the Mormo had said - _you shouldn’t be here_. “I will leave the lecture if that’s what you want me to do! There’s no need to grab me so rudely!” Still Mormo refused to let go.

“I am _punishment_ , not the warning,” replied Mormo. Her eyes glowed red when _punishment_ left her lips. “With punishment, is how you learn - not with _warnings_.” And when she added _warnings_ , two of her teeth seemed to become longer and longer and turn into the typical vampire fangs you saw in films. Pavel was now facing a mythological monster.

“You...you don’t keep ahead of the times, do you...ma’am.” He added the honorific to sound not just more respectful, but braver. He was beginning to think of a way he could get away with leaving. Of course. Punishment and learning? She sounded like a bogeyman - a tale to frighten little children with. Maybe he would worm his way out of this one.

The vampire’s fangs retracted. “What do you…?”

“The United Nations stands that physical punishment could be considered children's rights' violation,” said Pavel, slowly trying to think of anything to say of the case against discipline. “Modern psychology agrees that ‘the carrot and the stick’ is not just primitive, but ineffective.”

The woman snarled. “Those New Age hippies!” She swore unintelligibly in what Pavel was sure was Greek. “Haven’t I seen this before in the sixties with your _Common Sense Book of Baby and Childcare_? A generation of children spoiled! A ridiculous fad that was forgotten! Don’t you people know better than this?”

“I’m not a psychologist, but I’m sure you’ll have several experts to back me on this,” insisted Pavel. His plan was working perfectly - it was only a matter of staying calm. “Maybe you're being old-fashioned, but science, even psychology, has to keep renovating itself or else no progress is made! Don't you agree?” The monster’s iron grip on his wrist was softening - and good thing too, because some part of him was beginning to suspect that it had been broken.

“What sources do you have?” bellowed the creature. “The United Nations? They are politicians, what are they to know about child care!”

“I’ll look up as many reliable sources as you want on my phone as you want,” coaxed the demigod again. He was actually beginning to smile a little. “This can be settled calmly and we can come up at an impasse - it is perfectly okay to agree to disagree - ”

“This is a trick! And how do you know the sources will be reliable! Google will give you anything as long as it has the search words in it!”

The attendants to the lecture were now beginning to mumble and look their way, which was precisely what Pavel wanted. Now for saying what would get him the attention of his father.

“Well, you could use the internet of the faculty, so long as my father, _ANDREI CHEKOV_ , allows it!” he almost yelled, but it was the one name that would get him some attention. “Then we’ll use the databases that the university has on psychology, and I’ll get you the answers you need!”

He’d pushed it too far. The fangs returned again, and the vampire began growling.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry for yelling!” he protested feebly, but it was already too late.

“Negotiation makes you an equal against me,” she snarled. “And you are _not._ ”

Pavel screamed when the monster’s grip became too strong, and soon he was on his knees on the ground clutching his wrist in pain. This moment of vulnerability did not last long: soon the Mormo was grabbing him was the hair and pressing him against the wall with a horrible screech. The pain was clouding his head so much, he wasn’t even calling out for anyone to help him. Another one of Mormo’s hands went to his neck to keep him quiet as well as prepare his neck so she could bite it.

“What on Earth do you think you’re doing!”

Pavel was never more thankful to see his father. He was standing before the vampire menacingly, a ballpoint pen clutched in his left hand, and not even afraid of the monster’s claws, fangs or eyes. Some people were at his back in concern, but they only looked at Mormo and Pavel like they had been two naughty children that had gotten into a fight at an inconvenient time. Only Andrei Chekov seemed to regard Mormo for what she was. But if he did, _why wasn’t he running away in fear?_ Or at least calling security?

“You!” Mormo didn’t linger on Andrei for long. She dragged Pavel to her mouth.

Just as the fangs were about to drive down on his neck, the world renowned Andrei Chekov ran forward with only a ballpoint pen, and drove it directly through the vampire’s collarbone. The impact was great enough to down the demon and have her release Pavel to reach for her new wound. Pavel had never heard anything like her wailing.

Once again, Andrei Chekov pulled out the pen and buried it straight in the eye.

The vampire’s form shimmered and disintegrated. All that was left was a mountain of sand where the monster had been, and a crowd left puzzled at what had happened.

“Father!” Pavel steadily brought himself to his feet, and his father dove forward to hug him. He pulled back only to whisper, “Pasha, come with me. The lecture will be cancelled.”

“W-what?”

“Trust me.”

* * *

It was the first of many “trust me’s” that Pavel began to resent since the moment he arrived in America. His mother was the goddess Athena? Why not? He’d nearly been murdered by a vampire, and there was no doubt in his mind that both he and his father were entirely sane. But adapting to an entirely new country with shaky handle over its language was another thing. He was lucky enough that Chiron could at least manage Russian himself, but it wasn’t good enough for actual conversations.

Not to mention one of the most frustrating things was the lack of internet or phones in Camp Half-Blood, which made Pavel panic.  He still been given one week without any (legal) contact of his father. Sneaking away to the nearest convenience store with the help of Kevin Riley from the Hermes cabin had not been a very smart idea, and it had ended in a memorable encounter with a Hydra. Still, the wait had been horrible. He was only too grateful when his father answered his calls.

But it hadn’t been for long.

A month into that summer, Pavel had gotten a visit to the Athena cabin. Riley had kicked his ass at sword training for the afternoon (his hand was still in a cast over the skirmish with Mormo, but Riley cheerfully insisted he still needed to learn to fight with his other hand), and he intended to take a shower and head over to dinner. Instead, he found several of his half-siblings gathered all around a tall blond woman in a simple, gray dress. She was sitting at a bunk bed with a laptop and the campers all gathered around like lemmings looking at both her and the screen in admiration.

The respect with which they were looking at her only meant one thing.

The head counselor lifted her head and wiped the amazed look off her face. “Pavel,” she told him, “this is  - ”

“He knows who I am, Pol,” interrupted Athena, as calmly as she could. “I came to speak with him.” The rest of his siblings immediately turned to him - some were impressed, some were jealous, but all were baffled. As he was.

 _“I - anything you’d like.”_ In his staggerment, Chekov had stammered out his answer in Russian, but Athena was not thrown off by that. She closed the laptop and handed it over to Pol, who was now looking at it as if it were made out of solid gold.

“Walk with me,” and she spoke to him in Russian. Pavel daren’t even look at her in the face, but he followed her out the cabin and out to the porch of the cabin. All the while, he was torn between feeling embarrassed for meeting his mother drenched in sweat, or feeling any other kind of negative emotion because - well, everything else. She had left his father. She hadn’t even claimed him, since Andrei’s word was good enough for Chiron. He remembered the head counselor of Apollo having whispered something about how the gods owed them, but the truth was, it wasn’t smart to play around with morals like that when authority had the power to turn them into a panther.

“This will not be a tender meeting, Pavel,” confessed Athena, still in Russian. Her voice was faltering, when before she had only been polite. Pavel looked away from the landscape of the pavilion, and to his mother again. This time he dared look at her in the eyes, but only in fear. She was definitely...sad. None of the fancy variations for the word. It was difficult to pin down the emotion on a goddess, anyway.

“Why have you come?” Pavel may have been coming off as rude, but he suspected what was to come.

Athena hung her head for only a moment, but then returned to being the stern visitor of the cabin. “I have come so that when it is time for you to contact your father again, you do not get the news from some insensitive stranger.”

 _He’s dead_. It was clear right then, and anger filled Chekov. Athena was as insensitive a stranger as anyone he would have gotten if he had called his home - he hadn’t any close relatives that could speak for his father, but there was obviously going to be someone. His grandparents were dead, but he did have an uncle he rarely saw. The only insensitive stranger was Athena! And still he daren’t talk back to Athena, because…alright, there was no logical reason why he was still not angry at Athena. But give it an hour or two, when she was gone.

“What happened to him?”

“A monster. That is all you need to know.”

Chekov was enraged by this. “And you realized this because?”

Athena turned back to him. “Because I myself vanquished the empousa that did it. You blame the Mormo.”

Chekov did.

“You will learn that concentrating your anger, grief and frustration onto monsters only lead to frustration. There is nothing you can do against the endless stream of monsters that pour into this world - it is like seeking revenge against an animal - ”

“Please. May - may - ” The eleven-year-old was already beginning to tear up. “May I leave now? I - no disrespect - ”

He didn’t finish speaking. He buried his head in his uninjured hand and let out a sob. Chekov didn’t even bother to look at Athena for the next five minutes. He secretly hoped she would just go away and leave him be. But she was patient and stayed no matter his outwards grief. Only ten minutes in did he wonder what she was still doing by his side, so he looked at her in shame through his tears. But she still looked...despondent herself. Athena then took his uninjured hand. Not having the strength to protest, Chekov did not pull away. Her hands radiated warmth, not like he would ever think a god would be like.

Soon, a weight filled his hand, and Chekov was left staring in astonishment at the golden spyglass that appeared in his hand. His fingers wrapped around the smooth surface, but he still wasn’t going to forget, just because he was given a gift.

“If you are ever looking for an elusive truth, just look through the spyglass,” advised Athena. “Your father was one of the most intelligent yet kind men I have ever met, and it was an honor to have befriended him when he still lived.”

The young demigod stared back at his gift once, then back at his companion. But Athena had already taken her leave.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't even look at this chapter. I feel like I am terrible at writing all my favorites (Sulu, Chekov, Uhura). One half of me is pleased with the encounter with the Mormo and another is hating me and is telling me that I've turned Chekov into Wesley Crusher. It's just...to be demigod is almost synonymous to having a bitter backstory. So a good bit of backstories have become bleak (you'll see Scotty's has also become a bit darker). Still, I think I have officially decided to make a real sequel, with a plot, not just an introductory work, so it shall all be worth it. Though you might have to wait until December or January to see it fully developed. Thank you for reading.


End file.
